A Game of Realities
by Fellguarde
Summary: In the game of life there are a lot of big players. Fox McCloud and Jack Ardenssan are two of them. Normally two people are far too small to count in the long run, but the game is coming to the end and suddenly the big players are much more important...


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or part of the Star Fox franchise.**

A Game of Realities.

I don't think I've ever been so fucking angry in my entire life. My face is caked with blood and sweat, the sickly mixture dripping like syrup from my chin, oozing down my shoulders. I don't think my left eye will ever open again and the aroma of scorched flesh wafts up from the plasma burns that mar my frame. Somewhere in the mix there's a river of tears. I've cried all the tears the world has to offer. My life is gone, my friends are gone, and my love is gone. There's only one thing left for me to do on this godforsaken world and it's to shoot the cold bastard standing right in front of me in the face. Unfortunately, he's got a gun pointed straight at me.

Fucking great…

My name is Fox McCloud, and I'm having a very bad day.

In all my years, I don't think there's been a time when I've been more furious than this. I can't even begin to count the scars on my face, let alone therips and gashes that are bleeding all over my goddamn clothes. My right ear is now a red stump and I know very well that I won't be leaving this room alive. I feel like my skin is burning, as if I'm boiling from the inside. It's the rage, seething through my mind and writhing in my stomach. The world is a smear on God's ass now, there's nothing left. Its fragmented, shattered like glass in a tempest. And it's all because of the bastard standing right in front of me. Shooting him right here and now is perhaps the most appealing thing in the world. However, he also is aiming at me with a very large handgun, so things are a bit complicated.

Fucking awesome…

My name is Jack Ardenssan, and I'm having a very bad day.

The room is dark, the floor cold and metallic. There is nothing but row upon row of bookshelves, as far as the eyes can see. The very atmosphere is uncaring; it is efficient and manufactured for use. There is nothing to provide warmth or comfort, nothing to lend a helping hand.

And there is always that damn humming!

It almost drowns out the whispers, the whispers of what has been, what will be, what is. This is the Record room, the place where everything is stored. The rules are kept here, as are the recordings of all existence. Nothing is untidy, nothing is out of place or unlawful. This is perfection, ultimate order. It is all that should be in the universe.

But the rules have been broken, and now there are consequences. There are always consequences.

The two that stand under the illumination of dull, monochromatic light have already paid much for their sins. But they will continue to pay until everything is fixed. The rules cannot be broken. They must learn this. They must be an example for other misfits. Rules are rules.

They stand with ragged breath, both bearing heavy burdens and sagging under the weight of their wounds. There is one that his blessed by a fur coat, his features that of a fox and his clothes that of a pilot. They are torn and scraped; it is a wonder that these garments have survived as long as they have.

The other is human. His features are difficult to determine; there is a net of cuts and horrible burns across his face that can never truly heal. Black clothing sways about him, a coat above a shirt that is barely intact. Even through the grotesque injuries upon his face his eyes burn like twin orbs of flame, little shards of Hell staring out at the world.

Both of these odd individuals are holding guns that look as though any exit wound they may create would be roughly the same size as three very large watermelons. And they are pointing them at each other's heads.

The silence is oppressive, only broken by furious breathing. It's the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Something amazing is going to happen, and we don't know what it is. It's unlikely that the two misfits even know what will come of this. There's been blood, sweat and tears. The story is coming to an end, and it looks like it's going to go out with a bang. Two bangs, to be precise. You're watching the makings of a legend, a real legend that lasts as long as time itself. This fable will never be forgotten, this tale will never fade from memory. We can learn far too much from it for that.

This is a special case.

A snarl left Fox's throat, echoing eerily in the perpetual gloom of this pseudo-reality. His finger shook upon the trigger, waiting. Every second he'd promise himself that this time he'd pull it and end it all, but every second he let himself down. Who wants to bet that something similar is happening on the other side of the story? The snarl trailed off, becoming a shaky sentence.

"Coward. Fucking coward. Put the gun down and be a man for once".

The burning eyes of Jack flared like tiny supernovas, his face a picture of rage. Through clenched teeth he hissed the answer.

"Afraid to shoot an armed man, eh. I thought you were meant to be a hero".

"Put it down, now".

"Make me".

Nothing. They stood as still as before, the only things moving being the blood dripping from uncounted wounds. Jack was the first to pierce the silence.

"You're a mess. Pull yourself together and stop pretending to be in the right".

The interruption came with a shudder of rage that resulted in Fox nearly pulling that fatal trigger, his shout deafening, a roar.

"You killed my love"!

"Wake up McCloud, you shattered the whole fucking universe. You should be a dead man. Goddamn selfish prick".

"At least I tried! What did you do, attempt to cripple the machine with scathing wit? You fucking well did nothing! You might as well have given up, taken a blast to your own brain and rode the express to Hell. That's where you're going in a moment, fucker".

"You too".

"God I'm going to enjoy watching your head pop like a balloon".

"Why haven't you shot me then? What exactly will that achieve anyway. And please don't mention God. I want to kick him in the fucking balls".

"God God God God God God God. What do you wanna do then, Mr. Sociopath? I'd like to see one snappy idea come outta your horribly burned mouth".

"We do what I do. We roll on. Roll on with life. Finish what we started at birth. I tell you all the time, all you've gotta do is roll in with life. Finish the job".

"Holy fucking shit. How can you even talk about getting on with our lives after this? We can't do that now. It's impossible. You were the one moaning about the universe earlier, remember? One of us has to die".

"You don't understand. I said Roll On. We roll on".

There is a silence.

**Bang! Bang!**

You're probably wondering just how things ended up like this, eh? Well, let's take a look at the beginning of this little story, shall we?

…


End file.
